Broken Tales: Distraction
by Okami-chan
Summary: Set in Broken Weekend-verse. Donatello couldn't take his eyes off the strip of blue cloth on forest green skin. WARNING TURTLECEST. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.


**Title **Broken Tales: Distraction**  
>CharactersPairings **Don/Leo, Mikey, Splinter, Raph  
><strong>Okami 'verse <strong>Broken Weekend  
><strong>Summary <strong>Donatello couldn't take his eyes off the strip of blue cloth on forest green skin.  
><strong>Warnings <strong>Turtlecest, (semi-realistic) Turtle Anatomy! (which means cock-in-tail for those wondering), P-L-O-T, what is this word of which you speak?  
><strong>Author's Note <strong>My half of a trade with karasuookami, who requested Don/Leo/Not in the bedroom. She also gave me puppy eyes for Turtle Anatomy (okay, not really, but it sounds better that way, yes?). It was supposed to be a short little piece, turned into a bit of a monster. XD; At least it didn't require more than one chapter? (Sad this is an accomplishment =_=;;) At least monsters are fun to play with.

Also, this is a few years before Broken Weekend, and no one knows anyone is romantically involved with anyone else, except Raph, who probably knows about Don and Leo. Speaking of Broken Weekend, you might notice the main and sub titles? Well, my muses have been feeding me more stories for that verse. They're likely to mostly center around Mikey and Angel's relationship, though. (love that pairing) So far, this is the only planned Leo/Don-centric piece. (But with my muses that could very well change). This also means that I haven't forgotten Broken Weekend. :P

I'm also using this as an opportunity to play with some ideas I had for mutated turtle physiology. –end the excessively long author's note *jabberjabberjabberjabber*–

* * *

><p>The bandanna fell just over the lip of his shell, flipped and trailed down to brush his collar bone. Just one tail; the other lay hidden by his thick neck, no doubt laying in an enticing line down the arc of his shell.<p>

Donatello couldn't take his eyes off the strip of blue cloth on forest green skin. That during a group meditation session wasn't the most appropriate time, apparently didn't matter to his concentration, though. His hands clenched into fists, and he half-lidded his eyes against his Sensei's all-seeing gaze. He drew in a deep breath, and sewer air filled his lungs, rank and damp no matter how they tried to mask it. They'd long gotten used to it, but still it lingered there for a taste when they opened their mouths to breathe or speak. Now it served as a much needed distraction from the desire building in his veins.

The object of his focus remained oblivious to the weight of Donatello's gaze. Meditation had taken the lines of stress and worry that their life had placed too soon on Leonardo's face. Relaxed in a way he never was outside of sleep, how could Donatello tear his eyes away? Leonardo's head tilted back, his mouth relaxed, and brow smooth. His fingers curled to lightly touch his thumbs, back of his hands resting on his folded legs. Leonardo was so obviously relaxed, and it made something inside Donatello twist and turn to see it. To see it in the light of burning candles, rather than the dim shadows of their bedrooms, or the sewers.

Raphael shifted next to Donatello, drawing him from his contemplation. Donatello knew that Raph hated meditating. He preferred to be constantly moving, more so than even Michaelangelo. Of course, even that small motion only served to draw their sensei's attention, and the sound of a stick rapping the floor.

"Raphael! Do not lose your focus!"

Donatello took a measured breath and closed his eyes, but he held the image of his brother in the front of his mind. He used it as a focal point for his meditation, until he sank deeper into the trance, and still the remembered sensations of their rendezvous only a few days ago lingered to tease Donatello until the sharp clap of their Sensei's hands ended the session.

Master Splinter waited until they all had their eyes on him. "That is all for now my sons. Go and replenish your bodies, we shall continue after dinner."

Donatello stayed where he was; eyes back to half-mast, breathing deep and even. He wanted to wait until everyone else had left the dojo. He didn't think he could stand without being painfully embarrassed, right then. His tail ached, swelling between his legs. Not so much that he burned with exposure, but enough to break his concentration, and make even the simple act of standing an interesting feat to keep it hidden.

Donatello knew his brothers, knew their particular colors, and the scars that marred their skin. He had no trouble recognizing the turtle that paused to stand by him with his legs splayed in what could only be a cocky stance.

"Did someone fall asleep during meditation again? I'm surprised Leo's not over here harping on you snoozing, he's always on my tail about it, but I don't see him over here raising shell."

Donatello opened one eye to glower up at the 'youngest' of his brothers. "I'm not sleeping."

"Oh noooo? Then what _are _you doin'? Hm? Hm? i_Hmmmmm/i_?"

Donatello resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead dropped the lids closed. Besides, Leonardo wasn't in the dojo anymore. "I'm just making my plans for the day." And holding off on standing at least until he could tuck his tail securely between his legs. He took another deep, calming breath of air, absorbing the hint of sewage on the back of his tongue to dampen his arousal. A thought occurred to him, then, and he opened both eyes to look at his brother speculatively. "What do you want?"

The orange bandanna perfectly framed the turtle's wide-eyed attempt at innocence. "Moi? How could you ever think something so horrible of your baby bro? Really? To think that I would stoop so low as to only approach you when I need something."

Donatello did roll his eyes this time. He rocked back on his shell, the ache in his tail dissipated to a low, but manageable, throb. "Of _course_ you wouldn't. How silly of me."

pMichelangelo's grin could only be described as brilliant. And here came the request. "Well, now that you mention it. There was something I was hoping you could help me with."

Amused, Donatello lifted a brow as he waited patiently for his brother to continue. Realizing that Mikey waited for a prompting, Donatello heaved a long suffering sigh, "What can I help you with Mikey?"

"Weeeeell, since you're _offering..."_

Donatello chuckled good-naturedly at this typical banter with his brother. He would never have refused him, anyway. He would never refuse to help any of his brothers when they asked him for it, and often even when they hadn't.

Green skin absorbed the candle light reflected by shining blades that swept and arced in beautiful, intricate designs. Muscles flexed, lending strength to each blow. Joints bent, giving precision and angle to every strike. Eyes narrowed, focused on each move. The blue bandanna tails twisted and snapped about, creating their own forms in counterpoint to the kata.

Leonardo's foot slid across the tatami mat, a shift of position, followed by the swift execution of a new set of attacks against his imagined opponent. The swords sang through the air, and Donatello would swear that he could hear the very molecules parting before the sharpened blades.

Pause. Shift. Attack. The rhythm of a street fight. Where the pauses were never guaranteed, and shifts had to be changed mid-motion. Where strikes needed to be redirected, or converted into blocks or dodges. Leonardo managed to turn something that should be choppy into a single, flowing, graceful movement. Each pause was merely a breath in the constant tide and ebb that defined his motions.

Leonardo was-to put it incredibly simple-beautiful.

Donatello clenched his fingers in an effort to stifle the urge to reach out and run a hand down the muscled arm, or bury his snout into the musky scent of a worked up reptile (_their bodies pressed together, surrounded by the smell of sex and sweat). _Leonardo had been a distraction all day long, even though the turtle had been nowhere near Donatello's work station. Perhaps that was being a tad unfair to his brother. Donatello, just couldn't keep his mind off Leo, and even now he longed to bring his brother to a halt with a firm hand in his bandanna tails (_cascading over his shell like a waterfall_), and run his tongue over the curve of the green shoulder.

The movement flowed to a halt, then, as Leonardo realized he was no longer alone. Head tilted, Leonardo turned his brown eyes on his quiet spectator.

Donatello straightened and approached Leo. He kept his pace smooth, and measured. His tail ached again, but he tucked it firmly between his legs, even though he could feel it becoming engorged, making it harder and harder to hold it up.

The brown eyes watching his approach narrowed, flicking over Donatello's face. A glance at the door to the dojo, and then Leonardo raised an eyebrow.

"Splinter's watching his shows. Mikey's reading his comic books. Raph's in his room, doing whatever he does in there." Donatello reached his brother, then, and he flipped an errant bandanna tail back. Of its own volition, Donatello's hand ran up the flap of cloth to fiddle with Leo's knot.

The elder turtle shook his head and moved his brother's hand away from his mask. "Not here. Not now. You know better." His voice stayed low, a whisper of sound.

Donatello sighed, but obediently dropped his hand to his side. "It's too much of a risk," he agreed, though it didn't make him happy in the least.

Leonardo's lips twitched into something that might have been a smile. The swords slid into their scabbards with practiced ease. "Can I help you with something, Don?" he asked in an even, normal tone.

A deep breath, and Donatello rubbed his hands on his thighs. Right, he needed to act normal, but his voice came out in a squeak, and he had to clear his throat a few times before any words would come out. "Ahm, I, ah..." Quick thinking as Donatello scrambled for a reason. "Need to make a supply run. Tonight if possible." He couldn't quite repress the quiver that ran through him.

Leonardo was silent for what seemed like a long time, but was actually only thirty seconds according to the clock high on the wall. His expression blank, but carefully so, as though he were afraid that all his feelings would pour out for everyone to see. His eyes slid closed and when they opened they had darkened with a desire that echoed the burn in Donatello's veins. "Alright... I'll let Master Splinter know." He paused and his brow ridges furrowed. "Do you know if the others had plans...?"

Donatello grinned. "Movie and game, and both would be seriously ticked off if you dragged them away. It's the... uh final game for the season? And the movie is one I haven't been able to find a decent copy of online."

"Well, they wouldn't want to miss that. Things have been quiet, so we should be fine without them." His eyes narrowed within his mask, and swept a searching look over the genius brother.. "Just don't take us to any of the bad neighborhoods."

"Aww, but Leo! Those usually have the really good salvage too!"

An exasperated snort met that statement. "Suure." Leonardo moved then, stepping over to grab his towel off the weapons rack. He wiped the cloth over the light sheen of moisture that beaded his skin. It wasn't sweat, they didn't sweat, but more like condensation on the outside of a glass of water. Moisture that would need to be replaced. They called it sweat for lack of a better word. He didn't so much as look at Don while he did this. Finished with that, Leo tossed the towel over the back of his neck and headed for the door. He passed Donatello, and paused just in front of him. "You had it all planned out, didn't you?"

Donatello couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face. He stepped closer to his lover, his breath unsteady in his chest. Their snouts brushed, and their breath mingled. No resistance as Donatello drew a hand down Leo's plastron in a manner that couldn't in any way be interpreted as brotherly.

Leonardo let out a harsh breath, and his throat moved with a convulsive swallow.

A check to make sure no one observed, and then Leonardo leaned even closer to nip at Donatello's cheek. "I look forward to it."

Donatello couldn't breathe for a moment, and the touch lingered even after Leonardo had walked away. He clenched his thighs together, and took a few deep breaths until he could tuck his tail between his legs and walk normally.

Donatello stepped out of the dojo and walked past Leo making dinner in the kitchen. They ignored each other, acting as though nothing had happened. Donatello disappeared into his lab until the call came for dinner, and then he could only pick at his meal, his stomach twisted too tightly to accept much in the way of food. He could always pack something to snack on if he got desperate. Wouldn't be the first meal he missed.

After dinner came their final session for the day, and Donatello forced himself to dismiss the anticipation so that he could concentrate on the new moves their Sensei demonstrated.

Sensei had settled down for his final round of meditation, leaving the brothers to their own devices. Raphael immediately ran out the door, yelling something about hoping Casey hadn't started the party without him. Leonardo studiously cleaned his swords, as Donatello packed the 'necessary' supplies for an equipment run.

Don caught Mikey in the kitchen with a fair amount of snacks, and an enormous bowl of popcorn sitting on the table. Donatello stared at it, for a moment; "Mikey, you realize that I'm not gonna be here?"

Surprised, Michaelangelo blinked at his mound of snacks. "Oh." The eyes behind the orange mask narrowed speculatively, and he glanced at the kitchen door as though expecting someone to waltz in any moment; no doubt someone wearing a blue bandanna. "Dude, I've been looking forward to this thing for days…"

Donatello halted Mikey's protests with a raised hand. "I know. You have fun watching the movie." Contemplative glance at the snacks. "Though, Sensei hates it when we waste food like that."

Michelangelo's eyes mouth formed an 'oh' and he hastily put away a fairly large portion of the food. Leaving him with a couple bags of chips, one of candy, and his big bowl of buttered and salted popcorn.

Donatello held off on commenting on just how healthy that was not, instead grabbing a few bottles of water and tossing them in his bag. Mikey took his heart attack food out into the living room and settled down for his movie.

Leonardo came into the kitchen and hastily threw together two sandwiches, before he tossed them at Donatello. "You didn't eat enough at dinner," he said by way of explanation. "Are you ready?"

Don stuffed the sandwiches into his bag and gave the rest of the contents a quick once over. Satisfied, he zipped it up and slung the strap over his shoulder. "I'm ready."

Leo grinned, a flash of teeth that disappeared as quickly as it happened. "Let's go."

They left the lair.

Donatello followed Leo, splashing through the sewer tunnels. He kept one hand on the strap of his utility bag and the other stiff at his side, ready for anything to jump out at them. They hadn't encountered much in the way of monsters down here since Bishop's mutants (a hazy period for Don after he'd been bitten by one). So, they moved at an unhurried pace, and their conversation followed suit. It drifted from one topic to another, anything from technique, to comments on their home life. A brief touch on Splinter's health. They kept their voices down, wary of the grates that might carry the sounds to human ears.

They came to a walkway above the sludge they trudged through, and Leonardo easily jumped up and boosted himself to the drier concrete with a hand. He stepped back to allow Don the space to do the same. Don clambered up, though he felt he didn't have the grace his brother so easily managed. He wiped his hands on his thighs to rid them of the feel of the wet concrete.

Leonardo was scraping the bottom of his feet off on the edge of the walk way, his lip curled up in disgust.

Donatello did the same, the concrete rough against his calloused feet. He moved awkwardly, his shoulder and neck itching with the weight of his brother's gaze. His hands crawled with the need to touch Leo.

Leonardo's straightened when Donatello turned around, however, and he gazed down the sewer tunnel, as though he hadn't been watching his brother. "Where were we heading, again?"

Donatello didn't answer, as he gave into desire at last. He stroked one hand up Leo's arm, and the other down his brother's snout.

Leonardo glanced over and lifted a brow ridge, but he leaned into the touch and hummed softly. "What do you think you're up to?"

Don grinned and stepped closer, invading Leo's personal space. He traced the seam of the blue mask and skin that led into the curve of his jaw. Jump down into the dip of a lipless mouth the skin soft, pliant under his fingers. Drown in brown eyes filled with love, concern, trust… desire.

Don't break the gaze, but bring the other hand up to touch Leo's browridge. Follow the hollow of the eye socket and run down the other side of his snout. Caress the small nares with a swipe of his thumb.

Leonardo broke the eye contact first, with a soft moan and shudder . His lids slid over his brown eyes, and he sucked in air through his teeth.

Donatello cupped both of Leo's cheeks in his hands and leaned forward to nuzzle his brother's snout. Kiss, and then caress the indentation between snout and cheek.

Fingers touched Donatello's own cheek, a flutter against his skin. "Don…"

"Hm?" Don nipped at Leo's snout, his hands glued to his brother's face. He bumped his plastron against Leo's, his throat closing on a moan. "Are we too close?"

Leonardo's throat convulsed in a swallow, and he pulled away from Donatello's touch and kiss. "Yes. Yeeessssss. Too close." He sounded drunk, or like he was dragging himself from a dream.

Donatello dragged his hands away reluctantly, but couldn't resist one last kiss. He backed away before Leo's hands came down on his shoulders, though. He understood.

They were still too close to the lair, and couldn't risk anyone finding them. Especially with Raphael having headed out of the lair. Though Leonardo suspected their brother already knew about them. But there was no telling if Mikey's questionable attention span would draw him away from his movie. Or if Splinter would suddenly have him go into the sewers to run an errand.

They collected themselves, and Leonardo took the lead again. They moved at a quicker pace now, motivated with the need to get farther away from the lair. They could wait till they got topside, but Donatello wasn't sure he _wanted_ to wait that long. Not to mention the fact that Leo wouldn't want to leave them so exposed up there. Finding a place down here would be best, then. It wasn't like they didn't have plenty of hidey holes, but which one to use?

They were currently under 7supth/sup, and would be intersecting with High St. up ahead. They had that place under the junction at High St. and Main. But it would be too close to the subway at this time of day, they couldn't risk any humans hearing them. Maybe they should go to the warehouse district…

"Where exactly were you planning to have us go, Don?"

Donatello shifted gears in his head. "Um, well… There's that place on 27th. They might have what I need there."

Leonardo lifted a brow ridge at Don. "You actually needed something?"

pDonatello grinned, unabashedly at the tease. "Can always use _something_ around the lair."

"Hm."

They fell into an easy silence, then, and continued through the sewers until they hit one of the old subway tunnels, and started following it toward 27supth/sup.

Leo suddenly grabbed Don's wrist and drew them both to a halt. "Hey, I wanted to check something out."

Donatello let his brother drag him down a side tunnel curious at the anticipation in his lover's voice. But when he seemed to be aiming directly for a dark shaft, Don balked. He hung back, pulling against Leo's grip.

Leo paused and looked back, his enthusiasm momentarily blanketed by confusion

"Oh. I saw this on a run with Raph. Wanted to check it out. Interested?" He had to pause as he spoke, his voice strained into a high pitch as though his throat were closing on his words and turning them into squeaks.

It made Donatello smile, though his own breath caught in his throat, and his heart picked up its pace. "Yeah…" He swallowed past his own throat's attempt to close. "Just, let me grab a flashlight first."

Leo smiled, his eyes sparkling with humor—anticipation—and he pulled Don closer with the hand still wrapped around his wrist. His voice dropped, husking out of his throat. "What's wrong? Afraid of the dark?"

Don glared, and then shoved Leo down the shaft. He didn't have to watch to know that Leo would catch the edge. He dug through his bag until he found the flashlight and smacked it to turn it on.

Leo watched him from the edge of the hole, braced on his elbows, and feet dangling in the shaft. He dropped out of sight when Don turned toward the hole.

He shifted the strap on his shoulder and then easily followed Leonardo down into the darkness.

The single beam of light from the flashlight illuminated the dense darkness of this lower level. A corridor extended out, either way, parallel to the subway tunnel. Rubble lay scattered about their feet, fallen from the hole they had jumped through.

Hands grabbed Donatello, shoving him back. He lost the flashlight in the ensuing struggle, and his 'assailant' sent it spinning with a shove of his foot. Donatello grabbed one of the hands that scrabbled at him and twisted, but his efforts were in vain when a foot swept out and knocked him to his shell.

Within seconds the other was on top of him: mouth everywhere, nudging at Don's snout, licking at his jaw, a nip on his neck, an intense kiss. A hand came out of the dark, three fingers splayed wide.

Donatello threw his head back, gasping, and squirmed as the fingers played over his snout, spreading to encompass as much of his face as possible. His tail ached, stiffening between his legs.. Leo licked at his snout, and a shudder racked Don's entire body. He couldn't talk, mind muddled with need and want, and his throat closed around any words that tried to form. His breath quickened, and his pulse pounded in his ears, an echo of the throb in his tail.

Donatello's own hands were in no way idle during this assault on his sanity. They glided over leathery skin, and rough shell. He couldn't decide whether to press his face into the hand on his cheek, or the kisses along his mouth. Leonardo decided him. Don's hands froze on Leo's sides, his breath rasping in his throat.

Leonardo's hand stroked Don's snout, from the bridge between his eyes to the curve of his mouth. Donatello could only draw a breath when the hand lifted away, only to lose that breath with another drawn out caress.

Leonardo's eyes glinted in the residual glow of the flashlight, and Donatello could just barely pick out the smug lift of his mouth.

Donatello groaned mightily as another stroke seemed to reach all the way down to his tail. He could no longer hold it up, and the cold sewer air greeted his emerging cock. Don clenched his hands into fists, and forced himself to ignore the delightful feel of Leo's hand on his face.

"Leo," he finally managed to say coherently past the constricting muscles of his throat, "this probably isn't the best place…"

Brows knitted in confusion, and looked around. "Why?"

"Well, I've got rubble digging into my shell, and…" As if on cue, claws scrabbled on stone somewhere—too close—behind Donatello. "This place seems to be infested with rats."

"Damn." Leo stood, and kicked the flashlight back over to Don's hand. "You shouldn't need that thing, you know. We're supposed to be ninjas."

"Well, I could always use my turtlevision goggles."

"Oh yeah, and those are just sexy."

Donatello laughed and scooped up his flashlight. He let his brother pull him up, and pressed close in that same smooth motion. He latched onto Leo's face, unable to get enough skin under his fingers as he stroked his brother's snout again and again. Vengeance for Leo's own assault earlier.

Leo grunted helplessly a few times, and then seized Don's wrist and dragged his hand away. "Control, Don. That's a ninja thing, too." But Mr. Big-Shot Ninja Full Of Self-Control still leaned in to press a kiss to his brother's mouth.

"I'm a very bad ninja." Donatello crooned, nuzzling into Leonardo's mouth. "We all know it's true."

Leo paused and pulled away, his eyes speculative as they narrowed within his mask. "…is this one of those 'am I fat?' things I hear women do?"

An indignant snort burst out of Don's nose, and he did the only thing he could think of. He kicked Leo in the shin. "I'm not a girl! Shut up!"

Leo laughed. "You kick like one." And, still laughing, he deftly leapt out of the way of the next kick aimed higher. He turned and sprinted down the tunnel, his bandanna tails snapping behind him.

Another burst of outrage, and Donatello took off after his brother's retreating shadow. The flashlight's glow bobbed with each step, only occasionally catching Leonardo's silhouette. Still, he held the flashlight out to the side, those brief glimpse were all he needed to pursue his brother.

Leonardo, the faster of the two, led Don on a merry chase through the tunnels. Nimble steps kept at the edges of the beam from the flashlight. But like many places in these sewers, the tunnel came to an abrupt end, a cave-in with no way out, except back the way they had come. So close to the tracks, Donatello theorized that here was the reason this line had been closed.

Leonardo slid to a stop, and cast about for another way out.

A smile pulled at Donatello's lips, and he waited. For just. The right.

Leonardo turned, mouth set in a determined line, eyes narrowed, but flicking everywhere.

Moment.

Donatello turned the flashlight's beam right into his brother's eyes.

Leonardo, jerked his face away, hand brought up, but too late.

Donatello had already seen the light catch his brother's eye.

Leonardo was blinded. If only temporarily.

Donatello charged, the flashlight tossed to the ground with a clatter and scrape. He didn't need it now, he needed speed. He needed…

Momentum. He collided with Leonardo, shoving him down. Falling with him. Falling on top of him. He grabbed a fistful of bandanna tails, dragging his brother's head back, leaving his neck open to his mouth. His face exposed to be touched. Stroked. For Donatello to trace the broad cheek and pet the bump of his snout.

Leonardo's hands came up, and stroked down Don's shoulders. A moan rolled out of the throat under Don's mouth. Air hissed back into the passage, and out again in a rush.

Donatello squeezed the legs between his own, and dipped low to stroke his swollen tail over his brother's thighs. Clumsy fingers worked over the leather straps, pulling and tugging at the belts that secured the cross-draw sheaths. He shoved the straps aside once they'd been worked loose. He could worry about them once Leonardo was no longer laying on them.

Leonardo surged upward with a growl, arms clamping around his shell. The bo dragged over Don's shell, and it clattered to the ground somewhere to his left. Leo fought the hold on his bandanna, shaking his head to rip his mask free; off his face, or out of Donatello's firm grip.

Don's fingers tightened on his brother's mask, on Leo's face. He couldn't form a perfect—or long-lasting—suction, but he worked with it. Donatello sucked and pulled at the loose skin of Leo's neck.

Leonardo squirmed under him, gasping harshly. He dragged his fingers over Donatello's shell and sides. He wasn't trying to get away, but he squirmed. He kicked his feet, trying to spread his legs.

His cloaca burned and cold air washed over the head of Don's cock. He shuddered and rubbed the tip over Leo's—only slightly—warmer skin. He lifted his head and pressed kisses against Leo's jaw, against the corner of his mouth. And still he stroked Leo's face, as though he needed to burn the shape of it into his memory. He wanted… He let go of Leo's bandanna so that he could cup his cheek, and thumb the pulse under his jaw.

Leo moved against him, pawed at his thighs. Tried to press up, only to rock back on his shell. Small sounds escaped his throat, and he shoved his snout into Don's hand. "Don," he rasped, his head shifting between the hands on his face. His breath came in pants, desperate and needy, choked off as his throat closed on with each exhalation.

Donatello moaned against his brother's skin, loathe to pull away. But he ached for more. Insistent, he pressed Leo into the cement, bracing one hand on the ground to balance his weight over his brother.

He finally forced himself to drag his hand away from Leo's face. Stroked it down Leo's neck and over his plastron. Pause to finger the center seam between the top four scutes of his brother's plastron. Feel his brother squirming under him. His breath quickened, and his mouth traveled the path his hand had just taken. His tongue flicked across the pulse in his lover's neck, sliding over the cords and bulge of muscle. His teeth scraped over Leo's carapace; he licked at the sensitive skin that lined the plastron. He wanted more.

He wanted…

Donatello pulled away, filling his lungs with the stale and rank air around him, surfacing from his brother's scent. He hadn't even noticed how it had cocooned him until sewer air filled him; cold, where his brother was warm.

Leonardo's hands dragged over his skin, pulling at Donatello's arms and shell. But not to bring him back down. Eager. Wanting. He surged upward to mouth Don's neck.

Wanting as much as Donatello.

"Leo…" He ached with need. His cock slipped completely free, and he rubbed himself against his brother's leg. He whispered his brother's name again and again, and leaned down to capture the moan that escaped Leonardo's throat. "Leo, turn over."

"Yeeeesss…" Leo grabbed at Don's face, rising with Donatello's pulling away. He stroked Don's cheek, rubbed his snout, caressed the soft skin around his nares. Pulled Don's head back down to kiss. "Yeeessss…"

Fire ignited along Donatello's arms, originating from Leo's hands on his face. He trembled, excitement pulsing through his body. He opened his mouth to his brother, desperate for more.

One of Leonardo's hands slid down Donatello's body. A cool stroke along his side. Touch on his leg. And then Leo's hand wrapped around Don's throbbing, aching cock. He lightened his kisses, butterflies across Donatello's skin.

Donatello caught his bottom lip, barely stifling the moan that grated out of his throat. High-pitched grunts burst out of his throat with each pull on his cock. His brother's hand moved up and down Don's shaft, singing pleasure through his veins. He pawed at Leo. His legs flexed, thrusting himself into his brother's palm. His breath seized and his moans dissolved into churrs.

He panted into Leo's mouth, kissing him blindly. All his attention finally on the aching piece of flesh in his lover's hand. It felt so good, pleasure radiating outward from his cock. One of his hands somehow found its way back to Leo's face, and he scraped his fingertips over the other's snout and cheek again and again.

Leo jerked his face away with a pained whine, his entire body following the one motion, all the way down to the thighs between Donatello's knees.

For a moment Don thought he'd been stroking too hard, but then he noticed the way Leonardo's legs shifted, twisted and bucked, the way his breath rasped in his throat. It didn't take a genius to figure out the problem. Donatello nuzzled Leo's cheek, and ran his hand down his brother's scutes. Down the centerline, past the dips in his plastron,. To the gap between his legs, between plastron and shell. The most sensitive stretch of skin on any of them, normally protected by their tails. But Leo's tail was nowhere near that gap now. Donatello found it, engorged and so warm under his fingers.

Leo whined, his throat convulsing, his head rolling back. His hands flexed into fists, tightening on Donatello, dropping away from his face. Leonardo groaned, his gasp choked in his throat, and he squeaked. Churred.

Donatello drew it up, between Leo's thighs. The thick purple stalk twitched, and the head pulsed, but didn't fill out.

Leo whimpered, and his grip around Donatello loosened.

Donatello leaned down to nuzzle and nip; to kiss his brother's panting mouth. He rubbed Leo's cock, the stem thick, and warm, and wet. It moved, and pulsed in his hand and when he… yes, oh yes—rubbed it against his own, it made the ache and desire shoot all the way down to his bones.

He thrust against his brother, his cock sliding over Leo's plastron. He gasped, unable to draw a full breath. It felt so good, but…

It wasn't enough.

He wanted more than Leo's hand on his cock. And even though he ached, he knew he hadn't bloomed, yet. It wasn't enough, though he knew Leo would have by now. Knew from experience_ (times when he had opened under steady pulls, with just his hands working over the stalk_).

He had to force himself to stop and shove away from the other turtle on the ground.

Leo lifted his head, the dim light of the flashlight catching his slow blink of confusion. He rocked into a sitting position, or he tried.

Donatello stopped him with a hand on his plastron. "Turn over?"

Leo paused for only a brief second, his cock standing tall, but trembling and looking needful. Then he moved, rolling off his shell and onto his hands and knees. He gathered up his katana and set them to the side with as much care as he showed his lover.

Donatello groaned, choked on a gasp. He couldn't resist the enticing curve of Leo's shell turned to him, but ran his hands over the plates, the ridges that bordered his shell. Down the muscled thighs, and back up on their inside, named the muscles as he passed them, a whisper in his mind. To caress the swollen tail, and the long stem coming out of it. The turtle under Don's hands moaned, shuddered, and spread his legs, inviting.

Plastron clicked against the curve of shell, a thrill against his stomach. It made adrenalin surge through his body, endorphins pour from his glands. Donatello flipped his tail up and under, and his stalk slid between Leo's thighs. Into Leo's waiting palm. Where Leonardo's own cock lay waiting to rub against Don's.

Don grunted, gasped. i_Churred/i_. He thrust clumsily against into that tight grasp. His tail moved, pushing and pulling into his brother's hand. Donatello fumbled at the other's mask, not wanting to slip it off his head. No. Their masks came in handy for times just like this. He grabbed a fistful of tails and latched his fingers onto the knot, and then forced Leo's head to turn.

Leo fought, but then he always did. Leo never did like getting dragged around by his mask. Even in this. Especially when he knew what Don was planning.

Donatello rubbed at his brother's thighs one last time with his free hand and then reached for the top of Leo's head. The brow ridges tilted under his fingers, briefly dipping into the mask. Donatello stroked over the coarse material, touched on the exposed skin around Leo's eye. Then slid one slow caress down his brother's snout.

Quickened breath and tense thighs were the only outward response Leo gave. (_But Donatello remembered his ear slit pressed against his brother's plastron, and the increased pounding of his brother's heart as each sure stroke brought him closer and closer to climax_) No sound, though Leonardo's breath choked in his throat. But they had been trained to silence, and it reflected in their lovemaking. More so when they had to remain hidden from even the people they lived with.

Even the churrs that they couldn't quite help making became stifled. But when they were away from their Master, their brothers, their home, it became a challenge. More so for Donatello than Leo.

His kneepads scraped across the floor as he pressed his thighs against his brother's legs. A croon growled out of his throat at the continued pull on his cock: the squeeze of a strong hand, the tension of powerful thighs. Concrete bit into his shins, and the top of his foot, a sharp counter point to the pleasure singing through his veins.

Leonardo's mouth gaped open, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

His brother's shell was like an aphrodisiac, it fit so perfectly against his plastron. It felt i_right/i_, like Leonardo's shell had been shaped to fit him. Leo couldn't do this, couldn't drape himself over Don's back and still keep up a steady rhythm. And draped over Leo like this, it gave him enough leverage to…

His free hand slid down, over the dips and concave curve of Leo's lower plastron. His brother's cock—or maybe it had been his own—brushed the back of his hand, flowered and oh so warm and moist and inviting. But he continued past it. Donatello reached between Leo's legs, and traced a finger down the swollen tail, to the edges of his cloaca.

Leonardo choked, and he lurched forward.

Donatello caught Leo with an arm around his plastron. He chuckled, choked off by an involuntary churr, and nuzzled the back of his brother's head. "Too much for you, bro?"

Nothing articulate came out of Leo's mouth. Only a broken moan. His hand dropped away from their cocks to brace against the floor.

His brother sturdy on the floor, Donatello's hand slid back down to the engorged tail between Leo's legs.

Leonardo choked again, his body tensing at the —what was to them—unnatural touch. Their engorged tails were nearly as sensitive as their faces, and almost any touch there left them gasping and whimpering and needful. Made them curl their toes and grab for the invading hand.

But Leo couldn't do that, with his weight braced on both arms.

And Donatello was more than happy to take advantage of their positions. He fingered Leo's tail with one hand, while the other stretched out to paw at his face.

Leo gasped and grunted, head twitching away from Don's hand. He had nowhere to go, however, and Donatello's hand easily followed.

A gasped whimper, Leonardo's thighs tightened; a helpless reaction to the stimulation.

The thick tail pulsed in Donatello's grip, and he rubbed down the appendage. The softer skin slid easily through Don's hand, and his hands tightened just a little more when he encountered his brother's moist cock.

Leo crooned and churred, rocked on his hands and knees. He pushed up, his shell scraping against Don's plastron. He swayed uncertainly as he shifted his balance, and a fine tremble rippled through his limbs. His hand came up, stroking Don's cock for a brief moment before he had to drop it to the floor again.

A shiver ran through Don's legs, but even draped over Leo's shell as he was, Donatello could only just nuzzle the back of his brother's head. "Am I too heavy?"

Leo groaned and tossed his head, trying to shake off Don's hand again. But the fingers stayed glued to his face. His mouth gaped open, a whimper squeezing out of a churr. He gulped, a convulsive movement of his jaw, so that he could talk. "Not really. Just off balance."

Unable to kiss Leo, Don lowered his head and rubbed his cheek across his brother's shell. His hand dropped away from Leo's face, and he groped at the other's plastron, fingers digging into the scutes. His hand followed the dip into the dip in Leo's plastron, blunt nails catching on the central seam. The rough texture of the shell scraped his face, sending pleasure crawling down his arms. It made him squirm and thrust into the grip of his brother's thighs.

He even notice the way Leo wavered until a hand touched his face. Gentle fingers stroked over Donatello's snout, and over his eyeridge; blindly groping over cloth and skin alike. They glided over Donatello's flared nostrils and pressed at the soft skin around his mouth.

Donatello couldn't help but to lean into that touch. To lift his head, and allow the fingers to give him what the shell could only shadow. His eyes rolled in ecstasy, and his cock ached, and stretched. He gathered both of their cocks into one of his hands, the stalks moist and eager. He slid his hand up the stalk, and churred as he encountered the head of his brother's cock.

Leo churred and his hand dropped away from Don's face. He became a steady rock again, his cock moving in Don's hand with simple twitches of his tail. He crooned, and moaned. Scrape of skin and nails on concrete; Leo's fingers curling in ecstasy.

Donatello shuddered, and the head of his cock filled out completely, flowering. It ached for touch, for friction. He wanted to pull on it and stimulate it. But he wouldn't deprive Leo of that very same sensation. He did miss Leo's touch on his face though. So he went back to rubbing his cheek and snout against the shell under him, the plates catching on his pebbly skin. Churrs broke out of his throat, helpless sounds that echoed in the tunnel even though Donatello clenched his teeth and buried the sounds into Leo's shell.

Leo rocked under him, grunting each time Don pulled on his cock. Every thrust made Leo's thighs tighten, a sweet pressure on Don's stalk. Muscles trembled with the effort of holding them both up. He groaned and churred softly, much more practiced than Donatello at keeping himself quiet. His movements became more frantic, his cock pushing into Donatello's hand.

Donatello squeezed the stiff flesh and pulled at the bulb at the tip of the cock, eliciting an excited churr from his older brother.

They didn't stop. The sounds continued, choking gasps and groans. Leonardo swayed, and one of his hands fumbled at Don's cock. Donatello didn't relent his weight, however and Leo only got in a few pulls before he had to drop his hand back to the filthy ground.

"Hnnn, Donnghie!" Leonardo's neck stretched out, so that his head could twist about until he could look at Don from the corner of his eye. "Please." His visible eye clenched shut as Donatello increased the strength of his pulls. He swallowed, his breath coming out in harsh pants. "You're heavy."

Donatello laughed, even as he fought the incessant churrs building in his throat. He kept his grip on Leo's cock firm, and shifted his other arm to stroke along his brother's plastron. He bit at the curve of Leo's shell and hooked an arm firmly around his plastron and dragged him upright. He leaned back, bracing himself on his knees to relieve a little of the weight on his brother's shoulders.

Leo's fingers wrapped around Don's cock, finding the swollen head and giving it a long, firm tug. He pushed it down and rubbed their slick cocks together.

Donatello groaned, eyes scrunching shut as he pushed into his brother's hand, inviting him to pull again. A churr broke into his soft moans, echoing Leo's own helpless, choking gasps and soft squeaks. Don's hips bumped the back of Leo's thighs with each thrust of his tail. The sensation surged up his cock and through his tail. It crawled over his thighs like a thousand pinpricks, and the only relief was to keep moving, to keep shoving himself into the tight grip around his cock. To hold onto the thick, moist stalk in his own hand and pull on it in the motion of each thrust.

His free hand rubbed over Leo's plastron, calloused fingers catching on the scraped and chipped carapace. He was in too awkward a position to reach up as he wished. He wanted to rub Leo's face, or even grab his bandanna and pull his head around to nuzzle his cheek. Donatello had to make do with only rubbing his face against his brother's shell.

Leo's hand stilled on Don's cock, his body arching and tensing. His head bowed, and harsh churrs scraped out of his throat. "Don-nghie! Yes!"

Donatello groaned as the grip on his cock tightened. He bit at the curve of Leo's shell again and he pulled back against the firm grip. Only to whimper pathetically when that grip disappeared from his cock. A touch on the back of Don's fingers, and a warm hand that covered his own, squeezed his hand around Leo's cock.

Then that hand fell away, and Leonardo sagged in Donatello's arms. Don couldn't hold him up, not without releasing Leo's cock. He wouldn't—couldn't—do that to his brother. But it also meant he could send his hand forward and…

Leonardo tossed his head, mouth gaping open as Donatello stroked his face. His arms tensed and his churring stopped. His tail pulled against Donatello's hands, his cock pulsing in Don's grip.

Leonardo shuddered, his breath rasping past a throat closed tight in rapture in a groan. He arched his back as much as his shell let him.

Donatello continued to stroke Leo's cock, even as it drooped in his hand. His hand slid over the slick stalk, rubbery flesh collapsing in his fingers.

Leo grabbed Don's hand, twisting his wrist to make him let go.

Donatello opened his fingers, automatically shaking off the thin film that covered his fingers.

Leonardo sighed and shuddered, drawing in deep, unsteady breaths. He leaned back against Donatello's thighs, head bowed between his shoulders.

Donatello couldn't hold still much longer. He rubbed his face over and over Leo's shell, sawing his own tail back and forth between his thighs. He reached around Leo's carapace and grabbed hold of his own stalk and pulled against his tail.

Warm fingers wrapped around Don's cock and Leo became a steady rock once more. They moved together, Donatello pulling against the two hands on his cock. He couldn't even remember which one was his. He only wanted to focus on the hands sending bliss up and down the long piece of agony between his legs. He kept his face pressed up against the rough texture of his brother's shell. It felt like he was about to rub his face raw, but he wanted some kind of contact besides his hand. He wanted his snout petted and soothed, but Leo had both hands occupied, and he didn't think he could make his own fingers release his needy cock, Leo's shell was the only thing left to him.

Then one of the hands left Don's cock, and the warm body shifted under Don's weight. Before Don had a chance to whine at that loss of contact, slimy fingertips jabbed into his cheek, only to turn and run a tender caress down his cheek. The fingers bumped back over his mouth to close on his snout.

Donatello scrunched his eyes shut, pulling desperately on his tail as the fingers caressed over and over.

Leonardo trembled beneath him, spent, but apparently determined to finish Donatello off first.

Don's cock strained opened, filled to the point of pain. The hand on his face sent pleasure crawling down the nerves under his skin, all the way down to his tail and the aching cock there. His skin crawled everywhere actually, nerves firing off phantom sensations in reaction to the stimulation in his most private part. His mouth opened, eyes sliding open, though he couldn't see anything past the bliss.

And still Leo's hand stroked over and over his snout and cheek, blindly jabbing fingers into his mask and mouth and eye and Donatello didn't care. So long as Leo kept on that stroking Donatello would…

Come. Pouring out of his gut and through his cock, squeezing all breath out of his lungs. Donatello shuddered, finding himself biting into Leo's shell while those fingers just kept on stroking and stroking.

He jerked his head away, and let go of his cock. A shudder ran through his body as the limp stalk retracted back into his cloaca.

He felt Leo's glance back, and he whined when the warm body slid out from under him.

He wasn't deprived long however.

Strong arms pulled him close to a cool plastron. Donatello didn't have the strength to worry about that though, struggling to regain control of trembling muscles as he was.

He blinked as he became aware of nuzzling and warm breath in his ear. He lay there, breathing deeply the scent of Leo (better than the stink of sewage only a head turn away), and just enjoyed the closeness for a while. He even mouthed at the folds in Leo's neck, and stroked a hand (the one not covered in slime) along his brother's side, suddenly aware of the caresses down his own shell.

"Guess we need to head up top, huh?"

The other turtle shifted, the nuzzles turning into a nod. "Yeah, did you…?"

"'ts in my bag. Sandwiches, too. Now I _am_ hungry." And he was, he realized as his stomach made an agreeable gurgle.

He pushed away from Leo's plastron, giving him a parting nip on his chin. He snatched the flashlight up from where it had rolled a few feet away and turned it to search for his bag. A shiver ran down his back as the chill of the sewers crept back over his skin. He dragged the bag back over to Leo, so that he could go through it near the small bit of warmth that his brother still offered. He dug out two towels, which they both used to wipe themselves up. Then he pulled out the two (slightly smashed) sandwiches Leo had made. They ate in a companionable silence and tossed the wrappers away. Then they shoved the towels back into the bag and replaced their weapons and stood.

It took them a while to find their way back to the hole they'd originally come down. Donatello hadn't realized that Leo had made so many turns in his playful bid to get away.

They stood under the hole, blinking up at it.

Donatello furrowed his brow as he contemplated the issue before him. "Hey Leo… how exactly were you planning on getting back up?"

Leonardo turned to regard Donatello in surprise. "… Didn't you pack the rope?"

Donatello grimaced, the beam of his flashlight still directed up at the dark hole. "Um… well, I did, but…"

Leo dropped his face into one of his hands with a moan. "…You forgot to set it..."

"You were distracting me!"

* * *

><p>Michelangelo stared in fascinated horror as the alien from the Pieron Nebula stalked its prey through the streets. His teeth clenched, and he pulled his blanket up to his face, but not over his eyes. She's going to get eaten. She's going to get eaten!<p>

Just as the monster jumped its hapless prey, the lair door hissed open and two figures stumbled through, bringing with them a wretched stench.

Michelangelo's own hapless scream had thankfully been drowned by the two arguing with one another. Of course that very same scream had ended up getting choked off by the horrid stink that had wafted his way. His hand clapped over his snout, but breathing through his mouth only left the reek as a foul taste on his tongue. "Oh man you guys. What did you do, slog through a _septic tank_? I thought you were going to a junk yard."

The arguing had ceased during Michelangelo's outburst, and he found himself suddenly the focus of his two brothers who looked like they were in the running for the next casting of Swamp Thing.

"We were going to go to the junk yard, but Leo just _had_ to see what was down some dumb, dark hole. We were stuck wandering around those tunnels for _hours_!"

"You should have set up the rope you'd brought. It was only obvious!"

"You were distracting me!"

"How? By pointing out that your technique needs work?"

"You said I kick like a girl, and I don't!"

"Whine like one too." Shove. "There you go again. I mean really, what do you call this." Stick out a foot and wiggle it around daintily, and his voice went up a few octaves in mockery of Don's. "Oh, see my pretty feet. Take this! and that! and that! you evil villain, you!" And Leonardo punctuated each exclamation with a dainty jerk of his foot.

Michelangelo could only stare dumbfounded as his brothers seemed to forget him again, arguing back and forth. "Okay you guys, you can get a room now. " He ignored the silence that greeted that statement, after all that was a really gross thought. "Or better yet a shower. You both stink! Pee-Ew!" And he turned his shell on his brother, hands clamped over his snout and mouth as he tried to sink himself back into the movie on the television. Somehow though, the alien sucking out Mrs. Fenton's brains just didn't have the same impact with that stench permeating the lair.

Then the skin on the back Mikey's neck _crawled_, and he choked back a yelp as he turned around. Sometimes being in a family of ninjas really _sucked._

Swamp Thing One and Two grinned down nastily at him, and grime-covered hands reached out for their hapless victim.

* * *

><p>Raphael came home to the tormented screams of his youngest brother. Reflex had his hands on his belt until he recognized his older two brothers on the floor, apparently trying to make Mikey throw up from laughing too hard as they tickled his sides and the back of his knees. He relaxed, only to bring his arm up to cover his nose and cringe in disgust. "God what the hell stinks in here? It's like someone stepped in a clogged toilet or something."<p>

Then he noticed the gunk smeared all over Don and Leo, and that now peppered Michelangelo. And he knew for a fact that his brother hadn't left that couch all night. He could see the fat butt impression still on the couch from here. Raphael was many things, and stupid was not one of those. He turned and high-tailed it out of there before anyone had a chance to even think of bringing him in on the fun. He didn't even want to _think_ about how those two had managed to get so nasty anyways. Much less the wheres or the whys of it. Hope Casey didn't mind if he crashed on his couch, again.


End file.
